Reluctant Montana Husband Read online

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” Nathanial said, reaching for her hand. “I do. You’ll be my wife in a few minutes. I care very much what happens to you.”

  When Beatrice flashed Nathanial a relieved smile, he grinned at her.

  “Come,” Warren said, motioning for them to lean forward and to review the document he had drawn up. “Review this and, if you agree with what I wrote, sign it. I’ll polish it and write a more formal agreement after you wed. But you should have the basics of your agreement in place now, so there is never any misunderstanding of your agreement or your intentions.”

  Nathanial read it, nodding. “Ja, it is good, Warren.”

  Biting her lip, Beatrice flushed and looked down. “I … I don’t read, sir,” she whispered. “I can sign my name and make out a few things, but …”

  “Of course,” Warren said, with no evidence of censure or pity in his voice. He took the agreement back and quietly read it aloud.

  She had closed her eyes to better concentrate, and Nathanial took those few moments to study her. She was a remarkably attractive woman, with high cheekbones, lush lips, and a little furrow between her brows, as she listened attentively. He had a sudden urge to rub his thumb over it and to ease her of the tension of this moment. He feigned only mild interest in her when she opened her eyes, smiling at Warren as the lawyer finished reading the document.

  When done, he raised an eyebrow and waited for her to comment.

  “Yes. That is acceptable. Thank you.” The lawyer handed Beatrice his pen, and she signed her name where he pointed.

  Nathanial rose, motioning for her to follow his lead. “Come, Miss Shaw. It’s time we headed to the church.”

  “Oh, Nathanial,” Warren called out, with a wry smile. Nathanial turned to face him. “The MacKinnons learned what is to happen today. Don’t leave town after the ceremony.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re having a wedding celebration at the café.” Warren grinned at him and winked.

  Chapter 2

  Nathanial knew it was unconventional to arrive at the church with his bride on his arm, but he didn’t know what else to do. Everything about today was unconventional, and he had never felt more off-kilter. Looking toward the church, he noted that Leena and Karl had arrived, as their wagon was parked to the side of the building.

  Nine years younger than he was, Leena had moved to Bear Grass Springs with him and had married his best friend and partner in the sawmill, Karl Johansen. Three years ago they’d made him an uncle to beautiful Mette, and Nathanial had been determined to find a similar happiness in his own life.

  However, he had no illusions he’d find the love they shared. He knew he’d have to settle for contentment.

  Stifling a sigh, he looked down at the woman walking beside him. He should point out businesses in town, but that thought was interrupted, as Ewan MacKinnon called out to him.

  “Nathanial! There ye are!” The friendly Scotsman and husband to the local reporter ambled toward Nathanial, with a broad smile and a curious glint in his gaze. His overlong blondish hair blew in the soft breeze, and he appeared carefree as he approached. “I did no’ expect to see ye walkin’ to the church with …” He broke off what more he would have said, as he lifted his eyebrows in a silent question.

  Clearing his throat, Nathanial motioned toward Beatrice and forced a smile. “This is Beatrice Shaw. My bride.”

  Ewan frowned for a moment, before a mischievous glint lit his brown eyes, and he bit his lip, as though to hold back a burst of laughter. “Ah, yer bride. An’ ye are the one walkin’ her to church?” He shook his head. “I dinna think so, man.” He sidled up to Beatrice and took her hand, placing it on his forearm. “Be off with ye, lad.” He made a shooing motion. “Go away with ye now. We’ll meet up with ye in a few minutes.”

  Nathanial stared at Ewan for a moment and then nodded, relief filling him at Ewan’s kindness. He bent toward Beatrice and met her uncertain gaze. “I’ll see you in the church soon. Ewan’s as friendly as they come. And he’s already married, ja?”

  When she gave him a tentative smile, he grinned at her and walked to the church, dreading his conversation with his sister. He entered the church, laughing as Mette raced toward him. He hauled her up, holding her overhead a moment, before settling her on his hip and kissing the top of his niece’s head. Meeting his sister’s wary gaze, he shrugged.

  Leena had a demure stature at barely five feet tall, where her husband, Karl, towered above her at over six feet, like Nathanial. All were blond with startling blue eyes, including Mette. Leena worked in Annabelle MacKinnon’s bakery part-time, and the townsfolk loved her Norwegian specialties.

  “Well?” Leena asked, ignoring her husband, Karl’s, subtle nudge to not pester Nathanial.

  “There’s a slight … hiccough,” he murmured, speaking in their native language. When he saw the hope in her gaze, he shook his head. “I’m still marrying today, sister.”

  “What’s the problem?” Karl asked, his hand on his wife’s shoulder.

  Flushing, Nathanial shrugged. “Ah, I’m marrying a woman named Beatrice Shaw. Ingrid didn’t want to travel here, so she sent another woman instead.”

  “Another woman?” Leena hissed, glancing appreciatively as Karl took Mette from Nathanial and wandered away, so Leena could talk privately with her brother, without upsetting their daughter. “Mama approved of Ingrid for you. Ingrid was my friend, when I was much younger. She would have been perfect for you.”

  Nathanial nodded. “I know, Leena, but nothing is to be done. Ingrid’s in New York with another man. She didn’t want me.” He flushed at admitting that part to his sister. He’d not mentioned Ingrid’s finding another love to Warren after reading Ingrid’s letter, and Beatrice either didn’t know it or was kind enough not to broadcast it.

  Flushing with indignation, Leena held a hand to her chest. “So she used you to get passage here to America and acts dishonorably? That’s not the Ingrid I remember.” Her eyes flashed with anger, and she shook her head, as she focused on what was to occur today. “No, brother. You are not to marry this woman. You don’t know her. We don’t know her. You can’t.”

  He rubbed a hand over his face, resenting that his sister was putting to words all his fears. “You thought you knew Ingrid and look what happened.” He met her irate gaze. “Besides, I have to. She has no one. Beatrice traveled here on good faith that I’d marry her.”

  Pointing out the door to indicate the town outside the church, Leena spoke in a low, vehement voice. “Plenty of single men are here who’d marry her. You don’t have to be the one to sacrifice yourself and your future.”

  “I’ve given my word, Leena.” He saw her draw back in horror, for she knew what that meant: he’d marry this unknown woman. He’d never break what he considered a sacred vow.

  “Oh, Nathanial, what have you done?”

  Beatrice stood, her hand on the stranger’s arm, wondering what she was doing. “I’m sorry. I don’t know …” Her voice faded away, and she tried to slip her arm free, but the man clasped his hand over hers and smiled at her. A little of her tension eased, as she saw the open friendliness and compassion in his gaze.

  “Ah, ye have me all kinds of curious, lass, but I ken ye must be confused.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m Ewan MacKinnon.” He nodded to the livery that stood across from the church and the large house beside it. “My brothers, Cailean an’ Alistair, own the livery, with Bears.” He motioned to businesses around the town. “Family owns a fair number of establishments.” He winked. “The profitable ones.”

  Giggling, Beatrice found herself at ease in his company. “You’re a rascal.”

  He grinned with pleasure. “Aye, I am. As my dear wife, Jessamine, proclaims daily. She’s the reporter, an’ she’ll be mighty interested to meet ye an’ to hear yer story. But, if ye dinna want her tellin’ it to the townsfolk, let her ken, aye?”

  Beatrice nodded, delighted by his Scottish accent and innate charm. She
looked toward the church and pushed her shoulders back, as though readying to face a firing squad.

  “Now, none of that, lass. The family will be there to witness and to celebrate with ye. An’ ye’re marryin’ a good man, although I ken there was some sort of mischief, as Nathanial said ye had hair paler than his.” Ewan waited, but, when she remained silent, he smiled. “Ah, ye’re a smart lass. Already ken when to speak and when to hold yer tongue. Will do ye good in our town.” He winked at her.

  After another moment, he urged her to walk beside him. “If ye have nae objection, I’ll walk beside ye down the aisle.”

  She gaped up at him. “You would? You’d do that for me?”

  “Aye.” He smiled gently at her. “’Tis yer weddin’ day, lass. Ye should look back with fond memories an’ nae regrets.”

  Beatrice nodded, her confidence returning, as she saw the encouragement in his gaze. “No regrets.”

  “There’s a lass.”

  Somehow Beatrice made it through the wedding. She thought she’d faint when she saw the woman who must be Nathanial’s sister glaring daggers at her, plus the pity in the eyes of many of the other guests. In that instant, she had realized how fortunate she’d been to have had Ewan’s warm welcome outside and his willingness to walk her down the aisle.

  Now Nathanial was escorting her into a café, and she forced a smile and gaiety she didn’t feel. Rather than mingle with strangers, who lavished congratulations on Nathanial—her mind stumbled over calling him her husband—she wished she could hide in a corner and watch. She’d never liked being the focus of attention.

  Nathanial appeared at ease, keeping a firm hold of her arm, as he smiled and laughed with everyone who approached. When an elderly couple walked toward them, he stood even taller. For the first time, he had a look of trepidation about him, rather than bravado and determination, and she wondered who these people were to him.

  “Mr. Tompkins. Mrs. Tompkins,” he murmured, holding out his hand. “May I introduce my bride, Beatrice.”

  Beatrice glanced around the room and saw almost everyone in the café watching their interaction, before she focused on the older couple—who looked to be nearing eighty. Mr. Tompkins stood with slightly stooped shoulders and appeared to be wearing his Sunday-best suit with spit-polished boots. His blue eyes shone with friendliness.

  Looking at the woman, who Beatrice assumed was his wife, the elderly woman had a bemused expression and a welcoming smile. “Hello,” Beatrice murmured, as she glanced from one to the other.

  “You don’t look anything like the bride we expected our Nathanial to wed,” the older man said in a teasing voice.

  “Harold,” the woman muttered, tapping him on his belly and earning a soft grunt. When the older man winked at her, Beatrice giggled. “Ignore my husband. He’s as impertinent as that rascal, Ewan. I’m Irene, and we couldn’t be more delighted to meet you.” She beamed at Beatrice, before leaning forward to give her a hug.

  Beatrice’s breath caught at the open display of affection and at the ready acceptance by this woman. Beatrice opened her arms for a quick hug, before being released, uncertain if this was normal or not.

  “Now,” Irene began, speaking in a soft voice that wouldn’t carry to those nearby, who were blatantly eavesdropping. “Ignore those who question your union or believe you should have taken your time to acquaint yourselves. Have faith in what you’ve done today and never forget that a piece of pie makes almost everything better.” She winked at Beatrice, before moving away to chat with a nearby couple.

  Letting out a deep breath, Beatrice glanced up at her husband. “Who are they?”

  “They’re the founders and the unofficial leaders of this town, also the grandparents to the Tompkins family, as well as adoptive grandparents to the MacKinnons. Harold and Irene used to run this café but now live on their grandsons’ ranch.” His blue eyes shone, with shock and gratitude. “They just showed everyone here they accepted you.”

  “Why is that important?” she whispered, trying not to flinch when she looked in the direction of Nathanial’s sister, who continued to glare at her.

  “It means that, if anyone mistreats you, they will be displeased. And few wish to displease Harold or Irene, even if they do live on the ranch now, instead of in town.”

  Beatrice bit back any more questions, as another couple approached them, an older man with a pregnant wife. They looked to be newlyweds, and they seemed so content and happy, the husband wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist.

  As Beatrice had that thought, she looked around the café dining room and realized every couple was the same, even though many must have been married for years. Everyone present exuded a quiet happiness and contentment.

  Except for her and Nathanial. She flushed, realizing everyone else had married for love, not necessity. She felt the strain of pretense, as her cheeks ached from the false smile. “Hello,” she murmured to this new couple before her.

  “We’re the Suttons,” the man said, with a grin. “Tobias and Alvira. We run the only store worth visiting in town.”

  “The Merc,” Nathanial murmured.

  “I was the schoolteacher, but I’m to have a baby soon,” Alvira said, a petite woman, her black hair peppered with gray. Her kind smile made her cornflower-blue eyes seem an even softer blue, and she studied Beatrice with compassion. “Come with me,” she murmured, reaching forward to grip Beatrice’s arm. “You need to mingle with the womenfolk.” She shook her head, cutting off any protest from Nathanial.

  “I don’t think it’s proper …” Beatrice murmured, as she was whisked away from Nathanial.

  “Oh, what about today has been proper?” Alvira said, with a chuckle. “Besides, you’ll find no one in the family cares much for propriety, and we’re anxious to know you. You’ll be at the sawmill, out of town, and now’s our chance to meet you.”

  Beatrice smiled, unable to resist Alvira’s charm. Yet Beatrice didn’t want to cling in her anxiety at approaching the gaggle of women clustered around each other.

  “When you do come to town, I hope you’ll come by for a visit. Either at the store or at the bakery,” Alvira said to Beatrice. Turning to the group of women as they arrived, Alvira asked them, “Don’t you agree that Beatrice should visit us when she comes to town?”

  “Of course,” a woman with black hair said, as her light-brown eyes sparkled with friendliness. “I own the bakery with my sister, Fidelia, and Leena helps once or twice a week. I’m sure you’ll come into town with her sometimes.”

  “Leena?” Beatrice asked, looking around the group of women in confusion, although she knew that name from earlier in Warren’s office.

  “Oh, your husband’s sister,” the friendly woman said, nodding to the petite blond woman across the room, who was in an intense conversation with a man Beatrice suspected was her husband. “Leena and Karl live near the sawmill too and have a daughter, Mette.”

  “How lovely,” Beatrice said in a soft voice, unable to hide her uncertainty.

  A strikingly beautiful woman with red hair and cognac-colored eyes chuckled. “Annabelle, you’ve done little to ease her fears.” The woman held a hand to her chest. “I’m Jessamine MacKinnon, and my husband walked you down the aisle today. Annabelle’s my sister-in-law and so is her sister, Fidelia, too.” Jessamine smiled and winked at Beatrice. “If we like you, we’ll adopt you into the family too.”

  “I … I’m thankful,” Beatrice stammered out, uncertain what it meant.

  The woman, pointed out as Fidelia, smiled and gripped Beatrice’s arm in a gentle squeeze. “I know we’re an overwhelming bunch, especially when you meet us all at once like this. But you’ll come to like us.” Her thick chestnut-colored hair was tied back in a loose chignon, and her light-blue eyes sparkled with contentment.

  “Now,” Jessamine said, as her gaze lit with her innate inquisitiveness, “why are you here, Beatrice?”

  Beatrice sputtered out a laugh. “To enjoy the party?”

 
Waving her hand around in agitation and impatience at Beatrice’s misunderstanding, Jessamine said, “No, why are you, the wrong bride, here?”

  “Jessamine!” A few of the women gasped at her impertinence, and Beatrice flushed.

  “I believe that is none of the townsfolk’s concern. I have no desire to be the latest story in your paper.”

  “Leave her be, J.P.,” Ewan murmured, as he approached, carrying a toddler in his arms. “Aileana wants time with her mama, not the reporter.” He smiled at Beatrice. “An’, if she wants to tell ye her tale, she will. But in her time, aye?”

  Letting out a deep breath, Beatrice nodded. She watched with fascination as Jessamine curled into Ewan’s side for a moment, before she moved and opened her arms to hold their child. Beatrice wondered what that would be like—to have that closeness as a family. To have a man to trust and to lean on.

  She glanced toward Nathanial and saw him talking with a group of men. An icy foreboding skittered down her spine, as she feared she’d never have that close family feeling with him.

  Nathanial watched his wife, interacting with the MacKinnon women, thankful for Alvira’s friendliness. He’d hoped Beatrice would make friends with them but hadn’t thought any relationship building would start today.

  “Congratulations,” Cailean said, as he slapped Nathanial on his shoulder. The eldest MacKinnon brother stood about Nathanial’s height, with a lanky build that belied his strength. His hazel eyes shone with questions, as he smiled at Nathanial.

  “Aye, ye married a fine lass,” Alistair said.

  Nathanial thought he heard the man mutter “hopefully,” but Nathanial couldn’t be sure. Alistair was the second-eldest MacKinnon and worked with Cailean at the livery. His wife, Leticia, was absent, as she was home with a head cold.

  Bears grunted. “Time will tell.” Staring at Nathanial, his brown eyes were inscrutable. “I hope you find joy in your union, as we have.” Bears was the third partner in the livery and married to Annabelle’s sister, Fidelia. Half–Native American and half-white, Bears had often been the victim of prejudice and preferred the company of horses. Only with the MacKinnons and their extended family did he feel comfortable.